Misplaced
by Get The Pop-Tart
Summary: Flora is not where she is supposed to be. Or rather, she's not WHEN she's supposed to be. Nothing made sense until she met a boy named Peter. Say, if she's going to be stuck here for a while, she might as well make a friend. Time travel; OC/PP and TheSameOC/SB (but not at the same time); Rated because Sirius's mouth is a toilet-other than that, it's pretty tame.
1. I

**It's time travel. Cliché, I know, but it could be worse…maybe. It's got an OC as an MC, if that helps at all. I like OCs.**

**I feel like this is a bit obvious and that there shouldn't be a need for me to actually point this fact out, but I don't own Harry Potter (or anyone else, because I don't believe that people are property. I'm just so liberal it's shocking, right?)**

=%=

"Hey, Flora," whispered my brother, who was currently standing back-to-back with me, wand drawn. "I think we may be in a bit of a pickle."

"More than a bit." I whispered back. The bad guys were closing in on us, and by bad guys, I mean Death Eaters. We knew how to fight, of course. We had both been in the DA my sixth year (it had been his seventh), and Harry Potter was a hell of a teacher. But no one can prepare you for a surprise attack in which you're outnumbered by four and one of you is—seventeen or not—still a student. "This is kind of a crap situation."

"Thinking makes it so." He said before he took a shaky breath to steady himself.

"Bloody Ravenclaw." I scoffed. Of course he'd say some philosophical shit like that.

"Said the Hufflepuff." He retaliated.

It probably came from being such close siblings in different houses, but neither of us had ever bought in to the house-wars that the rest of Hogwarts seemed so keen on. We bashed each other's houses often, but it never hurt our feelings, and it was always just between us. I never bothered the other Ravenclaws, he never bothered my fellow Hufflepuffs. It was our kind of sibling banter.

So if we were in a rough situation, we bantered. Banter wasn't exactly helping us survive, but it was better than silence. At least it reassured us, reminded us that we had each other's backs.

"We kill with kindness." I deadpanned, and I felt his silent laugh against my back.

"That's working well."

"Well, Mr. Intellect—Howsabout you _think_ your way out of this?" I asked, focusing on the task at hand.

"I'm working on it," was the simple reply.

No curses had been thrown yet; there was no need. They knew they had us, and we knew that initiating a fight where there wasn't one was basically suicide. They were slow, taking their time, which they knew they had plenty of. We had already tried apperating with no luck. They must have had the foresight to guard the building.

"Why do you think they're after us?" I asked, "We're not important." I tried to hold back the silent tears that were trying to escape, but decided that it was a waste of focus. No one would care if I was crying.

"I don't know why they're here, Flower, but you are important. You're important to me. You need to keep yourself safe." He said.

"That doesn't seem like the most viable option here, Macs."

"Thinking makes it so," he repeated, "and I know you can think through this. I love you, Flower."

Before I could return the sentiment, he said some spell I couldn't quite make out, and I felt a sharp pain in my head.

I didn't yelp at the pain, even though I really wanted to. It hurt like a mother—enough to cloud my vision. But the HP had taught us not to acknowledge our pain unless we wanted to tell enemy where to attack.

Speaking of the enemy, they weren't there. I blinked several times to clear my vision and found myself alone, exactly where I was before—the stockroom of Scrivenshaft's. Macs had taken up an internship his sixth year and a full job came soon after. I hated the place—it always smelled like the earthworm gizzards they used in the EverChange™ rainbow ink, and the barbs that floated everywhere as he worked made my nose itch. But penmanship was his passion, and if dressing quills all day got him an amazing employee discount in the end, who was I to judge?

The room was dark and empty; every step I took as I slowly checked my surroundings echoed loud enough for me to flinch. The shop was closed, just like it had been when I was with Macs. I was only there because he stayed late on Sundays, training the Quick-Quotes before a new shipment of feathers came in. Each school holiday for the past two years, I had gone to town with him in the morning, spent the day mopping floors and fetching tea for Dominic Maestro in order to save up for the hideously overpriced crystallophone charm package for my glass armonica, and met him back at Scrivenshaft's in the evening. Mum always insisted we stick together, considering the whole wartime bit.

Because that had helped.

"Macs?" I called out. No answer. Macs always answered. It made hide-and-go-seek a bit of a bore growing up, but now it gave me a definitive response. Macs wasn't here.

And if Macs wasn't here…shit.

I ran out of the stockroom and into the actual shop, my lavender robes billowing around my tights. Out here, there wasn't as much echoing, though I couldn't tell why with my very limited knowledge of the physics of sound. I didn't stop running until I had shoved my way through the door and was out on the cobbled walkway of High Street. It was empty and, even with the illumination from the streetlamps, full of creepy-looking shadows that could've been hiding anything. I recalled the stories of lethifolds that Macs used to scare me with when I was little.

Because that was a productive chain of thought. Great way to up the horror level of the moment, Flora.

Also, great way to distract myself. As I snapped out of it, I heard footsteps behind me. They were too close; I should have heard them from at least five yards away, but I had been thinking about death cloaks. Smooth move.

I swiveled with my wand still drawn, ready to cast a _locomotus wibbley_ on my attacker. I justify it as my go-to because attackers don't anticipate pathetic prank-like spells, but mostly it's that I'm just really good at it; I've been jelly-legging Macs since I got my wand. Immediately, he put his arms up in surrender.

"Who are you?" I snarled, trying to be as threatening as possible.

He didn't look like a threat. He was… "slight" would be a nice way of putting it but "scrawny" would be more accurate. His hair, a dirty blond that actually looked dirty, hung in a shag cut in desperate need of a trim, emphasizing an extremely angular face and an unnaturally pointy nose. He had high, defined cheekbones, which made his cheeks look hollow, even more so in the shadows. His eyes, however, were very round. It could have been because he had a wand pointed at his jugular, but it seemed more as if God had tried to make up for all of the sharp corners.

He said his name, but his voice was fast, quiet, high-pitched, and frankly _scared_, and all I could glean was that it was bi-syllabic.

"Louder!" I barked. God, I was starting to sound like freaking Mad-Eye.

"Peter."

"What is your business here?"

"I could ask you the same." He said. He was gaining confidence, though his hands were still raised. "It's way past curfew."

"Curfew?"

"Yeah. 9:00 curfew. Where've you been living? 1805?"

A comedian, ter-franking-rific. I didn't have time for this. "1996." I replied, hoping a serious answer would get him to explain this "curfew" bit.

"Ha, ha." He deadpanned, "Very funny."

"What?" I responded, confused.

"It's 1978." He said, seemingly equally confused.

"No, it's not," I immediately protested, but after I thought about it, it began to make sense. Macs had said some strange spell, and I had ended up in the same place, but a different circumstance. He had told me to "think through this" and time travel, as strange as it was, was a viable explanation.

"Stay." I commanded Peter (ya know, because he's totally an owl, and therefore must obey me) then backed away slowly until I was beside a newsstand. It was closed, but a copy of _The Spell_ in the window confirmed that it was December of '78.

I lowered my wand, but kept it in my hand just in case. He didn't go for his right away, but you can never be too careful.

"So, Petey—can I call you Petey?" I didn't wait for a response before I continued, "I'm not from around here. Can you explain this curfew to me?"

"Erm…" He stammered, still shaken from the whole threatening gig and all.

"I'm sorry for frightening you." I said, honestly, but also hoping the kindness would hurry him up.

"Well. Er. There's a curfew. No one's allowed out-of-doors past nine—floo travel only. They're going to be putting the charms up next week to enforce it," He said, with much stuttering. Then he asked the question that I had been hoping he wouldn't, "What did you mean: 1996?"

"Maybe later." I responded carefully. He seemed like he could potentially make a good ally, which I was sure to need, but I'm not so trusting. I'd keep my eyes open and figure a bit more out before revealing more than I already had.

He nodded; hopefully that was sign that he understood why I was being evasive. Of course, it could also be because he had more than zero brain cells and had pieced together my situation. I hoped it was the former.

I wrapped my non-wand arm around his shoulders and grinned. "Lead the way, Petey—which way to shelter?"

He steered me away from Scrivenshaft's to what I hoped was a safe place.

=%=

**So there you have it. Now, I recognize that I suck at math. Like, suckity-suck-suck at math. Despite my avoision, the nature of this fic requires me to use dates. I will probably get them wrong. In fact, I am almost positive I already have screwed up every year mentioned in this chapter (even though I tried my very hardest). To help you readers out, here's a breakdown.**

**-Flora is in her seventh year, one year above Harry. She is out of school for Christmas holidays. Macs is one year older than Flora**

**-Peter is in his seventh year and is out of school for Christmas holidays**

**If any of you clever people can figure out which years I should have used, please message me so I can fix them.**


	2. II

**Just a little look at Macsen's side of the situation  
Guess what-I still ****don't own Harry Potter. Quelle suprise!**

The Death Eaters disapparated one by one, leaving a confused Macs in their wake. Without letting down his guard, he crept out of the stockroom, then out of the shop and onto the sidewalk. It was empty. Lowering his wand, but keeping it at the ready, he started off toward home.

He needed to tell someone, he knew, but not the aurors. You couldn't trust the government these days, not with You-Know-Who infiltrating every organization that might get it in their heads to eliminate him. Also, what he had done was basically illegal. His use of that spell was not only a breach of contract; it could very well be taken as an act of theft.

He came to his family's front door and knocked. After answering a security question, he was pulled inside and hugged more tightly than could possibly be good for his internal organs. After a moment, he was pushed away and swatted on his arm with a green cloth that seemed to be covered in flour. His mother must have been stress-baking again.

"_Macsen Gaius Charmwright, you are_ _late!_ I was so worried something had happened to you. If I find out you were gallivanting about with those Brewer twins again, I don't care how old you are, you _will_ be grounded!"

His mum stopped yelling then. In fact, she stopped everything. "Where's your sister?"

The adrenaline that had kept him focused and steady seemed to wear off all at once, and he collapsed to his knees on the thin blue mat just inside the door.

"Macsen? Macs, did you hear me? Where's Flora?"

Macs felt sick. "She's gone," he said. His mouth was dry and his tongue seemed to stick to the roof of his mouth, causing him to lisp.

"Gone? Gone where?" her voice was tinted with panic, but she was unwilling to allow it to take over.

Macs shook his head. "I don't know. But I needed to do it. We were going to die and I couldn't let her die, Mum. Not our Flower. She's too good to die."

Macs's mother gasped. "You were…attacked?"

Her son nodded, and she sat down beside him and pulled him close. They sat on the floor, crying together until they lost the energy to even do that. Flora's domestic skunk, Ivan, came and rubbed against them. He knew something was wrong; his mistress hadn't fed him yet, and it was getting late.

"Macs, Sweetie," She stroked his hair like she had done when he was little and had had a bad dream. "I know it'll be tough, love, but I need you to tell me what happened."

"Zephyrus has been sick, so I've been filling in as a calligriphus this past week. There was a man who came in with a personal spell book; he wanted me to write in a new entry. It was something to do with time travel."

"You used this on her?"

Macs nodded.

"When did she end up?"

"I don't know."

"Is it the past? The future?"

"I don't know, Mum. I don't know anything about it. I just knew that they had blocked all other ways of escape and that she needed to be safe. I cast that spell out of desperation, not logic. I don't know what I did, Mum. I'm sorry."

"Shhhh. It's OK. You did what you could."

He began to cry again. She let him.


	3. III

**Hey, folks. Here's the sitch. I'm going to try to post at least once a week, on either a Tuesday or a Friday or, if I'm in an especially write-y mood, both. The traffic stats for this fic show that quite a few people have read it, but no one has said anything. It would really help if y'all would review for me. Or favorite (or follow or PM me or just do something) so I know I'm not the only one who wants this written. I'm feeling kind of lonely here.  
I tend to get annoyed when people beg for reviews (like I'm doing now) but please keep in mind that we don't get paid money for fanfiction. Reviews are the only gratification we get. So even if you think it sucks, please let me know (although hopefully in a kinder manner than "YOU SUCK!").  
So yeah. Please let me know what you think. **  
**Also, I don't get paid money for fanfiction.**

Peter led me to a row of tightly packed houses on the opposite end of town.

"Is this your place?" I asked. "It looks empty."

"Yeah. My parents are away, so I'm staying with some friends for the holidays."

"And you're going to leave me here, in an empty house?" I asked skeptically. It seemed like poor judgment, seeing as we were basically strangers and I had nearly attacked him a moment ago. Also, the idea of being completely alone in a time when I wasn't even supposed to exist, let alone reside, was frightening.

"Of course not." He responded, looking at me as if I were stupid for thinking him stupid. "We're here to use the floo. I'm taking you with me."

"You're taking me with you to a friend's house without telling them?"

"From what I've understood, you're alone, right? Nowhere to stay, no one to stay with?"

I nodded.

"Then you need help. You don't last long on your own around here. You clearly know that; you wanted a safe place. You'll be safe at the Potters'. And it's not like they don't have the room. The place is huge."

As he spoke, he transferred about ten phials of pearly iridescent liquid from a kitchen cupboard into a small bag attached to his belt. He saw me watching and held one of the phials up. "Forgot my potion—I can't have milk without it. That's why I'm back here in the first place and not drinking cocoa with the rest of my mates. So…you in or out?"

I took a breath. This seemed to be my best choice. "Ok. Let's go."

"Great. We're both thin enough that we can probably go together." He cast an incendio, but added a suffix that would extinguish the fire after we left.

"Impressive." I commended when I recognized the amendment. It was pretty complex; I had been trying (albeit half-heartedly) for years and it was still a 60-40 chance that I would explode the floo.

He flashed me a smile before waved me over, grabbed my elbow—so we'd be sure to go together, he explained—and threw the powder.

"Potter Manor!"

I don't have horrible balance, but I stumbled a bit when we arrived. I hadn't been pulled out of the system by another person since I was a toddler, and I wasn't expecting such a small person to have the muscle to yank me out of the hearth like that.

I managed to regain footing rather quickly and was once more steady on my feet before anyone noticed, which was not much of an accomplishment considering that we were in an empty mudroom. Even in its simple four-walls-and-a-floo design, the air around it seemed to smell of wealth. It was probably the marble. Marble and rich people seemed like they'd smell similar.

Peter toed off his shoes, and I followed his lead.

"Oi, Pe'er—'s 'at you?" Called a voice from another room. "You be'er 'urry if you wan' any bishcui's!"

"C'mon!" Peter said, grinning widely. "The Potter elves make the best ginger newts you'll ever taste!"

He basically ran through the entryway and around a corner. I followed and ended up in the doorway of a well-furnished carpeted room. The air of richness had disappeared, displaced by the scent of baking and cocoa and heaven. Three boys, Peter being one of them, sat cross-legged around a tufted cocktail ottoman. Two were playing chess quite intently, and Peter was already sitting next to them, nibbling on a ginger newt as he watched. He ate kind of like a rabbit.

A fourth boy was kneeling with his back to me as he fiddled with a knob on a console radio pushed against the far wall, trying to find a station.

None of them noticed me, so I just stood there, not daring enough to even step into the room.

"Damn it, Prongs!" the one on the radio swore. "Tell your parents to get a radio from this fucking century."

"Tell them yourself; you live here!" Replied Harry, not turning away from his game.

Wait…No, it couldn't be Harry.

It struck me then: Potter Manor… I was so used to hearing the Potter name that it hadn't even registered when Peter had said it before, but this must be Harry's dad. I didn't know much about him, but I remember hearing the name when Dad used to tell stories to me and Macs after dinner.

"I have! They just tell me that it _is_ from this century"

"There you go then. Queen to H5."

"Yeah, but it's _old_ and _stupid_!"

"You only think it's stupid because you don't know how to work it," Peter pointed out.

"Which wouldn't be a problem if this household had a fucking normal radio!" he gave up on the dials, powered down the radio, and spun around (presumably to continue his argument to his friends' faces) and was the first person to notice me. "Who the fuck are you?"

The other's looked up then.

"How'd you get in here?"

"Wha's yer name?" asked the third boy around a mouthful of chewed up biscuit. He looked very familiar, but I couldn't place him.

"Flora." I said, choosing to respond to the least accusatory question first.

"She came with me." Peter piped up, then held out a ginger newt. "Try one!" He seemed oblivious to the glares I was getting from the majority of those in the room. I took the biscuit, but didn't eat it.

"What?" The other boy practically yelled at Peter. He didn't cower like he had when I had met him in the street, but then again, I was a stranger with a wand and this was his unarmed buddy who couldn't work a radio.

"She was all alone and had nowhere to stay. I couldn't just leave her there."

"Why the hell not?" Radio Boy again.

"We're supposed to be getting freezing rain; she wouldn't survive the night."

"You can't just take in strays! She's a person, not a fucking puppy!"

"Think about what you just said."

"I said _puppy_! Not _big, strong, sexy dog-beast_!"

James approached me while Peter and Radio Boy continued to argue.

"Are you evil?"

"I'm about as evil as you are subtle." I said. Was this really how he vetted strange nighttime refugees?

"Fair 'nough." He laughed. "I'm James. This is my home…well, my mum and dad's home, but I live here too. You should eat that biscuit; I can get you your own mug of cocoa to go with it, if you'd like."

I took a small bite of the ginger newt Peter had handed me, then a bigger one. They really were amazing. I smiled.

"Thanks."

"If you really have nowhere to go, I'm sure Mum and Dad will be fine with you staying the night here. Of course, they'd have to meet you first."

I nodded. "Makes sense."

The arguing stopped suddenly and Radio Boy sauntered over and eyed me appraisingly.

"Flora who?" he drawled as he began to circle me, still looking at me as if I was a new cauldron and he was trying to determine if I was worth the galleons.

"Charmwright." I said, doing my best to keep an eye on him as he walked around me.

"Why are you alone?"

"My family is…not here. They're gone." I tried and failed to keep my voice steady. The quiver in it was shameful and pathetic, but I refused to break eye contact.

He stopped in front of me and seemed to stare me down. I stared back. After a moment, he held out his hand for me to shake. "Sorry about your folks. War sucks. Sirius Black is my name,"

I gasped and jumped back in fear. I had thought this was a safe place. I had lowered my guard, been sidetracked by a snack, and had ended up shaking the hand of a mass murderer. Stupid.

"Oh, Gee. And they say _I _give _them_ a bad name, the assholes. Fret not; I'm nothing like the rest of my family. They're insane! I'm just insanely handsome." He winked and flipped his hair.

_He's just a kid,_ I reminded myself, _kind of a weird one, but he hasn't done anything wrong yet._ Besides, I really did need a place to stay, and I had never heard of Black being accused killing/raping/maiming an innocent girl during the yuletide.

I nodded, but I couldn't bring myself to look at him again.

"Trust me, Padfoot. You're your own brand of nuts." The third boy, the familiar one, said, approaching. He had been quiet the whole time (except when he was talking with his mouth disgustingly full), but now I recognized his voice.

Professor Lupin. Looking at him now, it seemed stupid that I couldn't see it earlier. He looked younger, of course. A couple decades will age a person. But he was basically the same.

"Nuts are nutritious and delicious." Sirius grumbled. "And I come in some pretty damn attractive packaging, thanks."

Lupin rolled his eyes and then turned to me. "Remus." He said. "Pleasure to meet you." He held out his hand.

I shook it. "Likewise."

I was probably smiling far too widely for such a basic introduction, but it was good to see someone I trusted. I had been disappointed when Professor Lupin left the school. He was one of the few competent DADA instructors I'd had (and competent is the best kind) but beyond that, he was a genuinely good teacher. He made us actually want to learn, and it's not like he ate students for dinner. I wondered if he was already a werewolf in this time, or if that had yet to happen.

The fact that he was hanging with someone like Sirius Black puzzled me, though.

I reminded myself once more that Black was not yet a killer. _Just a kid._

"You wait here. I'm going to go fetch Mum and Dad." James said, checking his watch. "The opera should be over by now. I'll meet them there.

I nodded.

Peter patted the floor beside him, and I sat. He basically shoved another biscuit into my hands.

"Uh…thanks?" I said. No one had ever really tried to force food upon me before. It was strange.

"Baked goods bring cheer." He quipped. He grinned widely as if to prove it, though with his face it looked more maniacal than jolly.

"Well, I could certainly use a bit of cheer." I shrugged and took a bite.

"How long?" Sirius asked. "Since your family passed, I mean."

"You don't just ask someone something like that." Peter reprimanded his friend.

"She doesn't have to answer if she doesn't want to." Sirius shrugged.

Professor Lupin—Remus, I reminded myself—didn't say anything, but he looked curious.

I decided to be truthful…sort of. "Remember when we ran into each other about an hour ago?" I asked Peter, choosing not to deny that they were dead.

"Yeah." He said, then his eyes widened as he caught my drift. "Shit. Just tonight?"

I nodded, and then realized that it was far too soon for me to be homeless and wandering. "Nothing left to take care of. No bodies…no home…no stuff…nothing." I tried to explain. It wasn't an unusual circumstance in my time; I assumed that the first war must have been similar.

Voices approached from the hall.

"But Dad, she seems like a decent kind of person. And besides, _I _didn't let her in. _Peter_ brought her along." That was James.

"James, you are a representative of the Potter name and are trusted to maintain the manor when your mother and I are not present. Letting strange witches off the street into our house is not safe. Don't pass the blame to your poor friend when you are the responsible party." His dad, I assumed. His voice was deep and smooth. It was nothing like my own dad's gravelly timbre, but something about it was still fatherly.

"But she's alone and her family died and it's so cold out. You say I represent the Potter name; was I supposed to turn away a damsel in distress? I was showing hospitality, goodwill, and kindness."

"Which is why we are agreeing to consider it." A woman's voice this time, presumably his mother's. She seemed kind, even though she did have an accent that I tended to associate with the snobby rich kids at school. "But you should have come to us immediately."

"Yes, Ma'am." James replied just before they turned into the room.

I stood and took a step forward.

The room turned still, everyone waiting to see what would transpire.

It was Mr. Potter who broke the silence with one simple word. "Hello."

"Hello, sir." I replied softly. He had a kind face, but his height and perfect decorum made him seem intimidating.

"Come with us, dear," aid Mrs. Potter, who was wearing an honest-to-Merlin evening gown and a fur coat. "We need to speak in private."


	4. IV

**Anyone going to Leakycon? I am, my parents are taking me as a birthday present. It's the most exciting thing I can ever remember happening to me. This is just a short chapter in which Flora explains what's happened. It's not the most significant passage in the world, but it needed to happen. Also, soup.**

I followed them to another sitting room (because having only one room set aside for the purpose of sitting is too pedestrian, I suppose), where Mr. Potter gestured toward one settee before he and his wife sat on one facing it.

There was a quiet moment in which I became very antsy before anyone spoke.

"Tell us your story, dear," said Mrs. Potter.

"I fear that the truth could be used against me, were it to fall into the wrong hands." I said. Under the scrutiny of their gaze, I couldn't find the courage to continue my deception. And besides, these were the _Potters._ They were the good guys.

"What do you mean?" Mr. Potter asked. There was no judgment in his voice, just a willingness to understand, for which I was grateful.

"Begin at the beginning, dear, and we vow to keep you safe if your situation truly warrants it." Mrs. Potter seemed to have a tendency toward the word _dear_ that I did not object to.

"I was visiting my brother at work," I began. "Or rather, I was waiting for him to be done so we could go home together. I was badgering him because I wanted to get home early. Mum was going to make my favorite for dinner that night." I choked up a bit, remembering how she smiled and ruffled my hair as she promised me lamb chops. I had pushed her hand away, saying that she'd messed up my hair, but I secretly loved it when she did that.

Mr. Potter offered me a handkerchief, which silently took and used to wipe my eyes.

I took a breath before continuing.

"Four Death Eaters apperated into the storeroom with their wands already drawn. My brother and I have extracurricular combat training so we took a standard back-to-back defensive position and waited, but they just stood there and they were so scary." I started to cry again; admitting my fear was easier than I would have suspected. "Before they could do anything, my brother cast some weird spell that landed me here."

"Where were you before?" Mr. Potter asked logically.

"That's the part I'm scared to say," I replied, "because it's not so much _where_ as it is…well…_when_."

Their awestruck expressions didn't seem to match their faces. With them speechless, I kept explaining so it wasn't so quiet.

"I'm from the future, the 1990's." I didn't want to give them an exact year; it felt too risky.

"Death Eaters, you said," rasped Mr. Potter. "In the 90's. So…they won." He looked sick.

"No sir, they haven't. We're still fighting strong, though perhaps not as strong as we once were." I thought of James. He was a real fighter, my dad had said. He and Lily Potter fought so hard to weaken He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named that in the end their son survived. He seemed so young now. He would die.

"20 years, and still he lives," murmured Mrs. Potter. "How can any of us even hope to win?"

"I know that you probably have no way to know this information," Mr. Potter said, "but just in case—what of James? Do you know what happens to him?" He looked frightened of my answer, but determined to hear it.

"I've never met him." I said, and they looked so crestfallen that I wanted to reassure them of something. "But I know of him." I added. "He's married, I think." _If they died together, then death never actually _parted_ them, right? _"His son is just one year behind me at Hogwarts."

"He has a son?" His eyes glistened so I handed him back his handkerchief.

"Yes, Sir. I actually had to do a double take the first time I saw James, they look so much alike."

"Do you know him well?"

"Not really." I said, "Like I said, he's a year younger than me plus he's in Gryffindor house and I'm not, but he and I were in a school club together last year." _An illegal one, perhaps, but it was a club, and it was inside of the school._ "He seemed nice, and very talented. I don't feel comfortable revealing much more, though"

"Yes, yes. You're quite right." Mr. Potter replied absently.

"We'll give you shelter tonight, dear. And food; you're probably starving. Peppy saved the leftovers from dinner, I believe. I'll get you some soup. Come with me."

And I did.

And it was some damn good soup.


	5. V

**Hey again! Sorry I haven't posted as regularly as I promised. LeakyCon was absolutely amazing, but it also meant I didn't need the fanfiction to get my Potter fix. Then I forgot my fanfic password. Whoopsies.  
Speaking of LeakyCon, did anyone else go? Or has anyone else been to the new Diagon Alley park at Universal? Isn't it just fantastic?  
But anyways, I'm back now-HUZZAH. Have a chapter.**

Mrs. Potter confiscated my wand for the overnight (just in case I decided to murder them all in their beds, probably). I hesitated in handing it over, but I couldn't see any other choice. She smiled apologetically and loaned me a nightdress to wear after a much needed bath. I was short and she definitely wasn't, so the skirt dragged along the carpet as I walked, but it was comfortable and I was exhausted so I didn't care anyway.

"My husband told the boys you'd be staying here tonight," she said after leading me from the bathroom to a bedroom that she seemed to have picked at random, "so they know. They're under strict instruction not to disturb you. If they do, please tell me. We'll discuss a course of action tomorrow, but for now try and sleep well, dear."

I nodded. It made sense that I'd be under quarantine; this was her son and his friends we were talking about—her charges. She didn't want them to be hurt by me, still a stranger in an untrustworthy world.

Alone.

I missed Macs most of all, I think. I missed my dad and mum too, of course, and my friends. But Macs and I were always together. We spent as much time as we could in the common areas of school, where houses could mingle and therefore so could we. We lived on the lower floor of a small duplex just outside Diagon Alley and it only had two bedrooms, so we even shared a room during the holidays.

Macs was an uneasy sleeper, so I could always hear him toss and turn in the bunk above me, and I had become accustomed to the sounds of Ivan snuffling around my room at night. Even at school, the dorms were full of snoring and late-night chit-chat. Here there was nothing.

And, contrary to what one might think, the silence did not make for a restful night.

I woke early the next morning and had a small panic attack when I reached over to grab my wand. After remembering where I was and reassuring myself that they had promised to give my wand back in the morning, I stumbled to the door and peered into the hallway. It was empty and the torches hadn't been lit yet, so I assumed it was still quite early. I opened the door all of the way and went back to sit on the edge of the bed.

It wasn't too long before the hallway brightened and I saw a pair of house elves scurry past. I rushed back to the hall, nearly tripping on the too-long nightgown but catching myself on the doorframe.

"Excuse me?" I called to the elves, but they were moving so quickly that they had turned a corner by the time I righted myself and was able to peer into the corridor. I swore quietly, wondering if I could leave the room or not.

"Don't take it personally." Professor-Lupin-except-remember-to-call-him-Remus said from behind me and I spun to face him. "They've got tons to do in the morning."

I nodded. "I know. I just feel kind of…lost, I guess. Do you know what time it is?"

"It's five-ish." He said.

"Thanks." I said. It was earlier than I had thought. I must've gotten less than an hour's sleep. If I recalled properly, it was quite late when he went to bed as well. "Why are you awake?"

"I couldn't sleep. Bad dream. Pacing helps. What about you?"

"The same, basically. But if I had known how early it was I would have gone back to sleep."

"Cast a tempus." He suggested slowly, as if questioning my intelligence.

"They took my wand." I said. I felt wrong without it.

He seemed to not know what to say. Eventually, he settled on "bummer."

"Yeah." I nodded. "I was hoping to get it back, but they're probably still asleep."

"Give us ten minutes." He grinned and then ran down the hallway in the direction he had come from.

With absolutely nothing else to do, I went back to sit on the bed.

It was longer than ten minutes before he returned. He held out my wand and I lurched forward to take it.

"Thank you so much." I said, relieved that I finally felt right with it in my hand. I casted an Orchideous to make sure all was well and succeeded with the same ease I had always had. I gave the resulting bouquet to Remus as a sign of my gratitude. He looked as if he wasn't quite sure what to do with it, but took it with a smile anyway.

"Don't give me all of the credit. Sirius, James, and Peter helped as well."

"Helped?"

"Yeah. We lifted it from their room while they slept."

"They'll think I stole it back." My happiness dissipated.

"Don't worry. We left a note." Remus reassured me. "Thank Peter for thinking of that bit. That's what took so long. We had to figure out which of us had the least awful handwriting."

His comment reminded me of Macs.

"What's wrong?" Remus asked, clearly concerned.

"I miss my family." I said. I had no qualms about admitting this; I already saw him as my friend.

He nodded sympathetically, but didn't say anything. I didn't expect him to; there was nothing to say.

"Sorry. I'm a bit of an oversharer." I shrugged.

"It's alright. I'm good at listening, if you need to talk."

"Not now. But maybe I could redeem your offer some other time?" I asked hopefully; it would be good to have someone to talk to, after I figured out just how much I could say.

He nodded again.

"Thank you." I smiled. Then I saw Mrs. Potter coming down the hallway, already dressed and perfect-looking.

When she got a bit closer, I realized that she was also a bit angry-looking. It wasn't blatant, but she didn't seem as welcoming as she had the previous night. A piece of paper was in her clenched left fist.

Probably the note Remus had been talking about.

The note that probably mentioned his conversation with me.

A conversation that Mrs. Potter had specifically prohibited the previous night.

I whispered a quick "I'm sorry" to Remus just before she got to him. He looked confused until she spoke.

"Remus, Charlus should like to speak with you and the boys. Please gather them in James's room."

He nodded respectfully and walked quickly in the opposite direction, still holding the bundle of purple flowers.

"I'm sorry." I said to her, looking at my feet. "I don't mean to disrespect your wishes, especially since you didn't have to let me stay here. You've been so kind and—"

"Hush, girl." She cut me off. "I highly doubt you were the mastermind behind a secret early-morning meeting at which you conspired with four teenagers you had met merely hours ago to steal back your wand for insidious purposes. In fact, the boys left a note with the direct quotation:" She glanced down at the note in her hand, "'Don't blame the witch. She is not the mastermind behind a secret early-morning meeting at which she conspired with us to steal back her wand for insidious purposes.' Wordy, perhaps, but quite specific. I would be suspicious of James or Sirius, but this note is in Remus's hand and I doubt any of the other three can spell insidious. I love them to bits, but their talents do lie elsewhere. I'm disappointed with _them_, since I told them not to disturb you and yet they clearly did."

"I understand your hesitation in trusting me; I would have kept me separate from my family if I was you, but I swear I mean you no harm. I would never harm anyone unless it was in self-defense. Even then, I'm hesitant!"

"Dear, you had had a very trying time of it. I wanted to make sure that the boys didn't wake you with their antics. They can be a bit much most of the time. I wasn't keeping you isolated."

"What?" I asked, "Really?"

She looked at me with pity. "You're expecting to be mistrusted," She observed. "Is it really so cruel where you come from?"

"It isn't cruelty," I said, "it's caution. One must be cautious. He has eyes everywhere—ears too. He's watching, he's listening, and he's waiting for a chance to pull a stunt, to prove that he returned as strong as ever, and that no one can catch him."

"Returned?" She questioned.

I didn't answer, and she didn't push it.

After a small amount of silence, she spoke abruptly. "A bit of wand work will tidy up your robes from yesterday until we can get to town for new ones." She glanced around the room and, spotting my light purple robes folded on a chair in the corner, cast a scourgify. It wouldn't keep them from looking (or smelling) re-worn, but at least I'd know they weren't actually filthy.

"I can't buy new robes. I think I might have a few sickles in my pocket, but not nearly enough to purchase anything." I meant to be informative, but realized after I spoke that I may have sounded cohersive—_I'm a temporary orphan, sent to a strange world via an unknown spell; please give me stuff._

She looked shocked."I was never expecting you to pay for it, dear." She said, as if she were scolding me for merely considering it. Her expression softened. "Charlus has written a letter to a man whom we trust will help us a great deal. He doesn't know much; it is your story, after all. But we've set up a meeting of sorts. It's in Diagon Alley. I figured that we're going there anyway, so we might as well get you something to wear."

I smiled, greatly comforted by the way she seemed to care. Although placing my trust in someone I didn't know via someone I barely knew seemed nothing less than insane, I really wanted to get back home.

So I agreed.

**We'll go back to the whole Tuesday and/or Friday thing for the next update. Hope you enjoyed!**


	6. VI

**Sorry, Guys, but it's a really short one this week. School just started up again and my algebra teacher is assigning homework (AKA torture) like nobody's business. I hate fractions. And has anyone ever heard of the annotation (x|x)? I've never seen it before and it's all over my homework.**

I donned my black dress and purple robes, but forewent my stockings because I felt gross enough in the loose pieces without adding tights into the mix. A case of ink must have been knocked over in the hullaballoo the other night, because there was a dark blue stain around the hem of my robes. I felt unkempt, but my only other option was to go out in public wearing a nightgown that didn't even fit. So…a non-option then.

But at least I was going to be helped. I wondered how much Mr. and Mrs. Potter had told this trusted…person…

And, more importantly, who he was.

I again left the room. Peter was waiting outside.

"I didn't know if you knew how to make your way to breakfast. So I thought I'd take you there." He said.

"Thank you very much," I smiled. I didn't know my way to wherever they were eating. I had been in the kitchen yesterday, but my mind was racing and I wasn't really able to pay attention. Plus, with the number of rooms this place had, they were probably in one of their 5500 dining rooms.

"We're having pancakes." Peter said after we had walked in silence for a small time.

"I like pancakes." I replied. The conversation was mundane, but after what I'd been through of late, I didn't mind.

"That's good. So do I." He looked a bit uncomfortable for a while, then spoke. "Why did you try to kill me yesterday?" He stopped where we were and waited for my answer.

"I wouldn't have killed you," I said, also stopping. "Probably just a simple hex to slow you down and give me time to leg it."

"Oh," he said, "…then why did you try to hex me?"

"I was scared." I said. "I'm not a Gryffindor; I don't have that kind of bravery. I'd just been attacked and was truly alone for the first time in my life. I was panicking."

"Oh."

"I am sorry." I said. "I didn't know who you were."

"It's O.K." He replied easily, to my relief. He began walking again. "So…what house are you then?"

"I'm a Hufflepuff."

"A Hufflepuff?" He said, his eyes widening incredulously.

"Hey, don't judge me!" I laughed. I wasn't offended. It reminded me of what Macsen had done when I had been sorted, and his method of jabbing my house had never bothered me. "We are badgers for a reason. You know what term best describes badgers?"

"Small?"

"An apt description, perhaps," I conceded, "but a better one would be "bad-ass", thanks."

"Sure." He replied in a tone that said he didn't quite agree with me (yet) but was willing to let my opinion stand. "We're here."

"I really should have been paying attention to where we were going," I realized. I needed to figure this place out if I was going to stay here for a while, and judging by Mrs. Potter's offer to supply me with clothes, I assumed that I was.

"Don't worry. We'll be off to Hogwarts tomorrow anyway."

Shoot. With all the hubbub, I had forgotten. Well, at least now I knew that I had traveled back to the same date as it had been when I left, even if everything else was different.

I followed Peter and ate some pancakes. Damn, those house elves were good cooks.

After breakfast, we all gathered around the floo in the mudroom that I had first entered the house through. Mr. Potter gave the boys a talking to about not running off before everyone arrived (like last year, apparently) and we left for Diagon Alley one by one.


End file.
